


Until the End of the Universe

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lack of Communication, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Oblivious Shiro (Voltron), Post-Canon, Relationship Advice, Season 8 Doesn't Exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Keith knows that he’s going to be with Shiro forever. He knows that it’s what they both want. He takes up Shiro’s hand and kisses the back of it and smiles and knows he’s understood. Shiro smiles back and it’s everything. Shiroishis universe and they’re meant to be together forever.But that’s the real thing: they both want forever, they both know they want forever, and yet Keith can’t figure out why Shiro hasn’t proposed.Or: Keith and Shiro have been together for three years. Keith thinks Shiro must want to propose to him. So he decides to help Shiro out because he is a very good boyfriend, damn it.





	Until the End of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ailurea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailurea/gifts).



> Birthday fic for [Sarah](https://twitter.com/ailurea)! ♥ Happy birthday and thanks for being such a wonderful friend-- I had no idea what to write you, so I hope you like this nonsense of Keith Doing His Best (Kind Of).
> 
> (Edited December 2019 for typos/grammar.)

On Shiro and Keith’s first anniversary, Shiro takes Keith dancing. While they’ve always been graceful on the battlefield, born out of necessity of survival, they’re graceless on the dance floor. Their movements are jerky and awkward, too conscious of their elbows and too unconscious of the beat of the music. But Keith has fun just being in Shiro’s arms, both of them struggling to feel the music in their blood. They end up clinging to each other and moving arrhythmically. They end the night making out against the wall like they’re teenagers, grinding against each other and laughing into each other’s mouths. 

For their second anniversary, they’re off-world, visiting the planet Tynfreeger on a relief mission, but they still manage to scrape together a successful shore leave request to get a weekend to themselves. They spend it hiking up a craggy mountain dotted with alien flora and fauna; Keith tries sketching a strange creature with antlers and cats paws and Shiro sits on a boulder and admires the way the sun hits Keith’s face. At the peak, they take pictures of each other and the ever-expansive landscape. They camp up there in a little two-person tent, curled up with each other to stay warm. They spend the mornings luxuriating in the natural hot springs clustered in the shallow opens of the mountain caves. 

This year, their third anniversary, is a subdued celebration. They sleep in and eat homemade brunch and then work on the house renovations. Now it’s deep into the evening and they’ve sprawled out on the roof of the old shack they’re rebuilding. They’re midway through a months-long renovation to expand the shack’s floor plan and to make it more energy efficient (that is, to give the decrepit thing insulation in the first place). They have plans for a new, state-of-the-art kitchen, an expanded master bath with a soaker tub deep enough to accommodate even Shiro’s height, and a guest wing for Krolia and the Paladins to visit whenever they’d like. Working on reno all day may not be the most romantic way to spend an anniversary, but it means that Keith and Shiro will live together in a house that’s theirs and that’s better than any date. 

Today, they’ve spent the entire morning and afternoon installing new shingles for the roof. Now with the sun long sunk behind the mountains in the west, they're lying flat on their backs and watching the stars instead, tools forgotten until tomorrow. Keith knows these skies and they bring him deep comfort and despair at once: the stars that took Shiro away but the stars that also brought him back again. 

Keith’s thumb still smarts from striking it earlier with a hammer. It isn’t his fault he got distracted— Shiro chose the worst time possible to feel too itchy from sweat and decide to tug his shirt off over his head. Keith couldn’t help but stare, but Keith also was mid-swing, bringing the hammer down hard on the knuckle. It _really_ isn’t Keith’s fault that he’d get distracted by his boyfriend kneeling there dripping and golden like some stupid, sexy Adonis. 

Now, Shiro’s holding Keith’s hand, swiping gently over Keith’s swollen thumb with his thumb. It’s soothing rather than painful, affectionate and apologetic at once. The moment could only be better if it weren’t too cold now for Shiro to justify lying there shirtless. 

The night greets them in silence but Keith and Shiro are used to silence. It’s never been uncomfortable for Keith, to be quiet with Shiro. Keith’s eyes trace the curving arm of the Milky Way galaxy beyond the veil of their atmosphere, buoyed by the universe and the man lying there beside him, exuding warmth. 

“Three years,” Keith murmurs, breaking the silence like a drop of water in a still pond. 

“Feels like three hundred,” Shiro answers, and turns his head to look at him before Keith can throw him a wry look in return to add, “in a good way.” 

He squeezes Keith’s hand, mindful not to pinch Keith’s aching thumb. His eyes are so gentle, star-glowing and sweet. He’s smiling that smile that always reminds Keith, viscerally, of how much he adores him— and god, stars, universe, does he love him. 

Shiro says, “Happy anniversary, baby.” 

The night sky really does go on forever. So do Shiro’s eyes. 

Keith smiles back, his heart tilted sideways and all twisted up as he stares into Shiro’s eyes. “Happy anniversary.” 

They drift, gently, into their silence again. Keith looks at the sky and feels Shiro looking at him instead of the stars. Keith doesn’t mind; he’s used to Shiro looking at him like this, used to his steady attention and devotional study. It used to make him nervous— thinking that, eventually, Shiro will have to see a flaw— but he knows better now. 

Eventually, Shiro sighs, a soft and contented sound. Keith turns his head again to meet his eyes and finds Shiro’s expression just as soft, sweet at the edges and mouth tilted up in a smile.

“I could stay like this forever,” Shiro tells him, once their eyes meet. “Just you and me and the universe.” 

Keith feels himself flush, smiling back at him helplessly. Keith never used to think of himself as the cheesy romantic type. Before Shiro, Keith never cared about relationships or romance. But Shiro’s a romantic and it draws the romantic out of Keith, in turn. Hearing something like that from Shiro, Keith knows it’s absolutely earnest and deeply felt. Shiro never says things to Keith that he doesn’t mean entirely. 

“Yeah,” Keith whispers back and rolls onto his side, moving closer to Shiro— forever and always falling into his orbit. “Me too.” 

Shiro’s hand falls steady on Keith’s hip and holds there, thumb tracing the sharp cut of Keith’s hip bone. Keith’s smile softens at the corners and he leans in, kissing his boyfriend. Kissing Shiro is transcendent, even three years into their relationship. Shiro’s breath is a whisper on his mouth, his tongue tracing the line of his bottom lip before sweeping in. He licks over his tongue, presses closer, deepens the kiss with a barely concealed breath. His hand flexes on Keith’s hip and he drags him in closer and, with a whimper, Keith goes to him. 

He lays worship to Shiro, sliding his mouth against his, feeling the pillow of his breath ghost his lips as he draws back to heave a breath and then press in closer, fingertips touching and skimming Shiro’s jaw, cradling him. He sucks Shiro’s tongue into his mouth and groans appreciatively when Shiro’s hand slips up along his waist and under his shirt. 

When they part for air, it’s only to press their foreheads together, staring into each other’s eyes. Keith’s already long ago memorized every individual color shining in Shiro’s gaze, but Keith lets himself fall into the cosmos there, cradled gently in Shiro’s hands. 

It drives their friends completely bonkers, Keith knows. _Yeah, here they go again,_ Pidge once pointed out, dramatic and annoyed, all because Keith and Shiro made prolonged eye contact during a meeting. _Would you two just get married already and put us out of our misery?_

Despite being so happy and in love with Shiro, though, Keith’s never understood the appeal of marriage. It’s a construct, just a piece of paper. A wedding is just an expensive, performative ego-stroking enterprise. Keith’s never cared about putting something private on public display like that— the love between two people isn’t for anyone but those two people. He told Shiro as much once and Shiro’d laughed and teased him for it. _You just really hate sharing me, huh, sweetheart?_ he’d said, and looked delighted when Keith turned pink all over, from ears to chest and everywhere in between. 

Keith doesn’t understand the appeal of a wedding or understand the importance of a marriage when two people are already devoted to one another on a soul-level like he and Shiro are (and he would never say it like that because he _knows_ Shiro would tease him for being unwittingly romantic). As he lies there on the roof with the love of his life, staring up at the endless sweep of stars, Keith knows that he loves Shiro with everything he is. 

And despite his complaining about social pressures, Keith knows that if Shiro wanted a wedding, if Shiro asked him for that, Keith would do that for him in a heartbeat. 

Both Shiro and Keith know what forever looks like now, having stared down so many corners of the universe. Keith doesn’t need a ring to know that he belongs by Shiro’s side until the end of their infinity. Shiro’s said the same to him, before, usually when they’re swaying in each other’s arms at someone else’s wedding: _I have you. That’s all I’ll ever want._

But Shiro is a romantic. Keith’s seen the way he goes all misty-eyed at those weddings— the only time Shiro lets himself cry without embarrassment— and knows, even if Shiro denies it, that he loves stupid sappy love stories over action movies any day of the week. 

“What are you thinking about?” Shiro murmurs, breaking their silence once more, his thumb tracing one of Keith’s ribs. 

“You,” Keith answers, honestly, but obscuring. He lowers his gaze, tracing his eyes over Shiro’s boyish, beautiful smile, and then glances up at him again through his lashes. “Hey…”

“Mm?” 

Smooth as water, Keith curves into Shiro’s space and swings himself up to straddle his hips, hands resting on his pecs. He lifts a brow, smiling that devilish smile he knows drives Shiro wild. 

“Want to?” 

Shiro really, truly never needs much convincing for sex. He laughs, grabs Keith’s hips, and surges up to kiss him. 

Keith knows that he’s going to be with Shiro forever. He knows that it’s what they both want. He takes up Shiro’s hand and kisses the back of it and smiles and knows he’s understood. Shiro smiles back and it’s everything. Shiro _is_ his universe and they’re meant to be together forever. 

But that’s the real thing: they both want forever, they both know they want forever, and yet Keith can’t figure out why Shiro hasn’t proposed. 

 

-

 

Later that night, after Keith and Shiro climb off the roof (after nearly crashing off said roof because sex on the roof was _maybe_ not their most brilliant of ideas), as they get into bed and Shiro cuddles up to Keith’s chest and starts snoring, ear pressed right over his heart, Keith thinks that the _only_ reason Shiro hasn’t proposed is simply because he’s waiting for the right moment to do so. 

Keith likes to think he can be a helpful, gracious boyfriend. The least he can do, Keith figures, as his eyes start getting droopy and he lulls into sleep by the sound of Shiro’s deep breathing, is to give Shiro that perfect proposal opportunity. If his boyfriend is feeling shy, what better way to coax the question from him?

Satisfied, Keith falls asleep, his arms curled around Shiro. 

 

-

 

“Uhhhhhh,” Hunk says the next day, after Keith’s explained— briefly— his idea. “Or you could just ask him, you know?”

It’s about as scathing as Hunk gets, really. He’s not one to outright call Keith an idiot: diplomacy dies hard, and even with the Lions sacrificed to save the universe, Keith’s still the leader of the former Paladins of Voltron and Hunk isn’t about to step on toes. Especially toes belonging to a half-Galra Black Paladin who could, as Hunk so eloquently put it once, _rip my head off and use it as a kickball_. ( _I would_ never _, Hunk, what the hell_ , had been Keith’s scandalized reaction to the statement.) 

Keith scowls all the same and hands over the Altean Confabulator Enhancer Screwdriver to Hunk so he can start calibrating Keith’s starter-engine with all its fancy new Human-Altean hybrid tech. 

Petulantly, Keith says, “Asking him why would ruin the surprise. Proposals are supposed to be a surprise, right?” 

“That’s a movie thing,” Hunk explains, with all the wisdom and expertise of someone who is decidedly unmarried. Keith is feeling magnanimous and so does not point out Hunk’s lack of marital status. Hunk adds, with deep weight: “Normal couples communicate.” 

Keith wrinkles his nose, offended on Shiro’s behalf. “Are you saying Shiro and I aren’t a normal couple?”

“You and Shiro are _definitely_ not a normal couple,” Hunk mutters, more to himself than to Keith. Hunk is too sweet and gentle to roll his eyes, but Keith has the distinct impression that he really, really wants to. “Keith, if you want to get married, just tell Shiro.” 

“I don’t care about getting married,” Keith responds, immediately. “I just want Shiro to be happy.” 

Hunk mutters something and then sighs, turning back to face Keith, one arm still elbow-deep in Keith’s ship engine and looking like he’d like to do anything else but talk about this with Keith. Keith feels much the same way, regretting even bringing it up to Hunk. But after Shiro, Hunk’s the one he feels closest to and maybe a small part of him was hoping for guidance. Or at least validation that his idea was sound. 

Hunk must see Keith’s recalcitrance on his face because he heaves a much longer, deeper sigh and says, “Okay, okay, bud… You want my advice on a romantic proposal situation?” 

“Yes,” Keith says and doesn’t point out that he’d asked that very question only minutes ago, only to get a pseudo-lecture instead. 

Hunk considers and then decides, “Fancy dinner, obviously. Candlelight, feeding each other dessert. Lots of wine. Ambiance.” He wriggles his fingers at that last part. “That’s always a popular choice.” 

“Alright,” Keith says, considering. He can handle fancy dinners. 

 

-

 

“Hey,” Keith announces, leaning against the doorframe and poking his head into Shiro’s office at the Garrison. “I want you to make me a fancy dinner tonight.” 

Shiro looks up from the paperwork he’s filling out, expression brightening as he registers that it’s Keith talking to him and not someone random. His happiness lights up his entire face and Keith feels his heart squirm in his chest to see him looking so openly sweet and boyish, expression moony. Keith’s sure his is equally moony. 

“Oh,” Shiro says a moment later as Keith’s instructions register. He tips his face up to meet Keith as he comes into the room and ducks down to kiss his boyfriend. Shiro hums against his mouth. “Anything in particular you want me to make?” 

“Surprise me,” Keith says, with all the weight in the two words as he can manage, hoping to exude the secret, subtle meaning. He stares at Shiro, willing him to realize this for the perfect opportunity that it is. 

“I can do that,” Shiro answers, already looking thoughtful as he runs through the catalog of recipes he has tucked into his head. Shiro’s spent the better part of a decade cultivating the image that he doesn’t know how to cook. The rumor in the Garrison is that he’s hopeless and Shiro’s certainly never done anything to dissuade that rumor. Only Keith knows the truth: Shiro’s at least passable in the kitchen. He’s not amazing, but he isn’t a disaster, either. 

The trick, Shiro explained to him the first time he ever made Keith fluffy Japanese-style pancakes, is to look helpless so that Hunk’s more likely to take pity on him and give him all his leftovers. 

“Anyway,” Keith announces, “Hunk thinks I’m an idiot.” 

Shiro gives him a vaguely amused glance, subtly pushing his paperwork aside to give Keith his undivided attention. Keith seizes the opportunity to sit in the empty space on the desk instead, bracketing Shiro with his thighs. Shiro’s hands come up and rest on Keith’s knees, gentle but possessive. 

“And are you?” Shiro asks, teasing. 

Keith snorts and leans in, kissing Shiro just because he can. And also because he left Shiro’s office door open, so if a cadet walks by and sees them, they'll know that Shiro belongs to Keith. He licks into Shiro’s mouth and nibbles at his bottom lip, drawing out a pleased, hitching hum from Shiro’s throat. 

Keith pulls back from the kiss only once he’s sure Shiro will be starry-eyed and says, “Only in very specific ways.” 

“We can’t all be engineering geniuses,” Shiro says sagely, as if he isn’t brilliant and amazing at everything he ever tries, engineering included. He runs his hands over Keith’s knees and up his thighs, then back down again. Keith really wishes he didn’t have his uniform on so he could really feel the drag of Shiro’s skin on his skin. He shivers pleasantly under Shiro’s touch. 

Keith licks his lips. “So, dinner tonight. I’ll take care of the wine and dessert.” 

Shiro tilts his head, smiling. “Any particular reason you want a— what was it? ‘Fancy dinner’?” 

“Can’t I just want to be spoiled by you?” Keith asks, walking his fingertips up Shiro’s uniform coat and flirting with the top button, thumbing it open and then closed again. He watches Shiro swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing. 

“Baby,” Shiro murmurs when Keith skates his fingers up his throat. “We’re supposed to be working.” 

“Hmm,” Keith hums and slides into Shiro’s lap like a wave cresting. The door’s wide open but Keith doesn’t care, curling his arms around Shiro’s neck and dragging his weak, unprotesting mouth to his. 

 

-

 

“You keep staring at me,” Shiro says on the tail-end of their dinner. They’re well into the bottle of wine Keith brought home. The stupidly cute and expensive macaroons he’d bought from the boutique sweets shop on the way home sit on the counter, waiting to be eaten once dinner wraps up. 

Keith doesn’t quite blush at being caught, but he privately thinks to himself that it’s about time that Shiro notices. Shiro subtly wipes his thumb over his face and licks his lips, trying to clear away whatever spot of food must be there to warrant Keith’s staring. 

It isn’t noteworthy that Keith should stare at Shiro— they do it all the time, after all— but Keith figures his staring might be a tad bit intense tonight in his effort to be sultry and inviting and romantic. 

“I guess I was just thinking,” Keith says around a little cough, pausing to take a sip of wine. “You know… uh. This is all, uh, really romantic. Super romantic. Puts you in a certain mood, you know?” 

Shiro laughs and says, “How much wine have you had, baby?” 

But still Shiro picks up the bottle and tops Keith’s glass off for him. Keith laughs, too, squeaky and embarrassed but taking a long sip anyway. “Ha ha. I’m not drunk.” 

He sets his glass down and Shiro’s hand is there, taking Keith’s in his from across the table, his thumb swiping over Keith’s knuckles, just as he always does in these quieter moments. Keith holds his breath, wondering if this is the moment. 

But Shiro just keeps sweeping his thumb in slow, even strokes. That much is nice, too, and Keith feels some tension bleed from his shoulders. He smiles, warm and affectionate. 

“So,” Shiro asks, breaking the comfortable silence between them, “does my fancy dinner meet your qualifications?” 

“Full marks, Shirogane,” Keith declares. 

Shiro grins, dimples flashing and says, “Why, thank you.” 

Shiro pauses and Keith waits, watching with wide eyes as Shiro stands. He wonders if this _is_ the moment. If, in a moment, Shiro will kneel down at Keith’s feet and press a ring into his palm. 

But Shiro just squeezes Keith’s hand and takes their plates to the kitchen. He comes back with the macaroons, already munching on the pistachio one Keith got specifically because he knew it’d be the first one Shiro’d want to eat. 

Keith sighs and lets Shiro feed him the raspberry macaroon. 

 

-

 

“So I hear you’re trying to trick Shiro into proposing to you,” Pidge says in greeting when Keith picks up her video call, because Keith should have known that Hunk would immediately blab to his best friend. 

“I’m not trying to _trick_ him,” Keith protests. “I don’t care if we get married, but I know he wants to, so I’m trying to give him the opportunity.” 

“Whatever,” Pidge says, “I don’t have time for your nonsense. I just called to say that I’ll need back those Olkari maintenance crystals you borrowed from me.” 

“It’s not nonsense,” Keith says and digs around under his and Shiro’s bed until he finds the crystals he was supposed to give to Pidge weeks ago. 

“Absolute nonsense, the both of you.”

“Shiro isn’t nonsense. He’s cute.” 

“I literally have never thought of him as cute and never will,” Pidge announces. 

“Whatever, your loss,” Keith responds and shows the crystals to the camera for Pidge’s approval before pocketing them so he won’t forget to give them to her later. “It’s not working, anyway. Where would you take somebody on a date if you were going to propose to them?” 

“Ugh. You’d think after three years you two would calm down,” Pidge says, rolling her eyes hard enough to make up for Hunk’s lack of one yesterday. “Shiro’s easy. Take him out into the desert and compare him to a comet or something. He always goes mushy for that stuff, right?”

Keith feels his cheeks turn pink. “Shiro’s nothing like a comet. Comets are made of ice.” 

“I’m hanging up now,” Pidge says, a little overdramatically in Keith’s opinion, and then does indeed hang up.

 

-

 

He takes Shiro out on their hoverbikes the next night. They race along the familiar path they used to drive when they were younger. Shiro’s the first off the cliff tonight, but Keith ends up winning the race. Keith always loves racing Shiro— that adrenaline rush, that taste of dust on his tongue, Shiro’s wide grin when he rushes off a cliff with an excited whoop. Tonight is no different, and the thrill of the chase sings in Keith’s veins. 

They park at their regular spot to watch the sunset and Shiro slings himself up onto Keith’s hoverbike so he can drape over his back and tuck his chin over his shoulder. They press cheek to cheek, watching the sky stain its many colors until fading into darkness. They watch the light fade and bask in the sky soaked with stars.

Shiro’s arms are curled loosely around Keith’s body, palms flat on his belly. Keith glances down at them and then lifts his hand to cover one of Shiro's, threading their fingers together and holding it there against his stomach. 

It’s the perfect set-up for a proposal. Now, if only Shiro would actually take that opening. 

“Pidge called you a comet,” Keith announces once he tires of the silence stretching so far beyond them into the quiet of the desert. 

“Because I’m so flighty yet reliable?” Shiro guesses. 

Keith laughs. “I said you weren’t. Comets are too cold.” 

Shiro chuckles and kisses Keith’s neck, nuzzling at his jaw. “So… What do you think I am, then, baby?” 

“A star, obviously. Hmm, a sun,” Keith says, as if he had to even think about it. 

“Not a cold comet, then, but a smoking hot star?” Shiro teases with just a hint of self-deprecation. Keith leans back heavily on his chest, squeezing his hand. 

“Exactly. Very hot,” Keith declares and grins when Shiro starts giggling. “Everyone and everything revolving around you. The center of a universe.” 

“Solar system,” Shiro corrects. 

Keith rolls his eyes. 

“So what does that make you?” Shiro asks. 

“Hmmm… well. Seems too obvious to say I’m the moon if you’re the sun.” Keith shrugs. “Revolving you and reflecting back your light.” 

“But moons are closer with their planets, not the sun,” Shiro protests. Then he gasps, dramatically. “Keith, this is such a cruel way to tell me you’re seeing someone else.” 

“Ugh, you nerd! I’m trying to make a metaphor here!” He squirms out of Shiro’s hold so he can half-turn towards him. 

“Be accurate with your metaphors, then,” Shiro argues, grinning at him. “I’ll be the moon and you can be the planet, then. I’ll revolve around you.” 

Keith snorts, sweeping his eyes down Shiro’s chest. “Who’s ever heard of a planet being smaller than its moon?” 

“Plenty of celestial bodies are,” Shiro explains and looks like he’s going to explain more. Keith elbows him. He should have known better than to take Pidge’s romantic advice; he should have known Shiro would get hung up on semantics like a pedantic loser. 

This was supposed to get Shiro in the mood to propose. Instead, it’s just put him in the mood to lecture on astronomy. 

“Don’t pout,” Shiro coos, and from anyone else the tone would be obnoxious. “You’re a beautiful celestial body, Keith.” 

“Ugh.” 

“Breathtaking,” Shiro whispers. 

Shiro runs his hands up Keith’s body, and his touch is reverent, his smile adoring. He looks like he’s ready to lay worship to Keith’s sky and gravity. His touch is light enough that Keith squirms, ticklish. 

“Remind me again why I love you?” Keith mutters, flopping sideways into Shiro, leaning heavy on the arm supporting him.

Shiro smiles, all soft at the edges. “Because I’m lucky, I guess.” 

“You unbearable sap,” Keith whispers and yanks him down for a kiss. 

 

-

 

“Keith,” Allura calls out to him before he can exit the meeting room at the end of the weekly strategy meeting. Her voice is kind but commanding and Keith sighs, turning towards her. He can already sense that she wants to discuss something decidedly not business related because, Keith realizes with a certain dread, this is what his life is this week. He’s at least self-aware enough to know it’s his own fault; he shouldn’t have told Hunk anything ever. 

“What’s up?” Keith asks as the door whooshes shut behind the rest of the Paladins. 

“Pidge told me that you are planning on eloping with Shiro,” Allura says and at least has the decency not to make Keith wait for the point. 

“Of course she did,” Keith mutters, darkly, and shakes his head as his cheeks flush pink. “No, Allura, that’s not what I’m doing.” 

“I see,” Allura answers, folding her hands in front of her. He can’t tell if she’s disappointed or eager for gossip. “Then… you are, of course, planning a formal celebration?” 

“Not that, either,” Keith sighs, pushing his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face and then dropping down into the seat beside her. He has a feeling that he’s going to be here a while. “Look, if I tell you, you have to promise not to tell Lance.”

He really, truly can’t deal with Lance’s drama. 

“Of course!” Allura says, beaming. “I won’t tell.”

Keith hesitates, anyway. But then again, Allura usually gives solid suggestions and she and Shiro are close. If anyone were to know what would work best for Shiro, she would, right? 

“Oh!” Allura says, pleased, once Keith explains things. She gives Keith a considering look and then claps her hands together, delighted. “You must invite a situation that allows Shiro to display his prowess as a mate.”

“Uhh… what?” Keith mutters, already considering the logistics of throwing himself out a window. 

“Does Earth have something like the Altean Snytmyvernst?” Allura asks, hands clasped together in front of her, a fire lighting her eyes. “Shiro must hunt this creature and present it to you, his mate, in a formal ceremony of fire and camaraderie.” 

“I—” 

“We all know how you like it when Shiro’s perspiring,” Allura continues, casually, to Keith’s absolute and eternal horror. “Imagine him in the heat of an animalistic battle and presenting his mate with the prize of eternal devotion!” 

“I, uh, I don’t—” Keith fumbles, reeling over the fact that his friends apparently _know about his Sweaty Shiro thing._ “I don’t… think that Earth has any Snyters or whatever.” 

Allura taps her chin. “Then we must find another means for Shiro to display his skills. Something that will ignite his desire to possess you.” 

“Um.” 

Far too chipperly, Allura asks, “What will make Shiro feel possessive?” 

Keith’s mouth thins. “Shiro doesn’t really get jealous, I don’t think.” 

It’s happened once or twice, Keith thinks, but Shiro isn’t violent or possessive. At most, he gives the guys who might check Keith out a sidelong glance and then always tugs Keith snug into his side. But it’s Keith who turns into a gremlin about it. Last time he and Shiro went to their favorite bar, some guy hit on Shiro and Keith nearly snapped his hand clear off when he dared to touch Shiro’s shoulder. 

But it isn’t like Keith has too many other options. 

Keith rubs at his face and sighs. “I guess I could try that.” 

 

-

 

That night, begrudgingly, Keith drags Shiro to a bar to see if anyone will hit on Keith so Shiro can flex his boyfriend muscles. He sincerely doubts that anybody could go for him when Shiro is right there, looking effortlessly gorgeous, but he knows that Shiro would say the same thing of him in turn. 

He wears the collared shirt he knows Shiro likes but leaves one more button undone, figuring that everyone goes crazy over Shiro in a vee-neck and he can at least try to recreate the magic. He leans against the bar, casually arching his body to be as inviting as possible and ignores the pinch in his side the prolonged position gives him. 

He stares at every guy that comes to the bar but he’s maybe being a little intense about it because any time a man makes eye contact with him, his eyes skirt away and don’t look again. Maybe he’s glaring rather than smoldering? 

Shiro, on the other hand, is positively beaming. He places one of his big, strong hands on Keith’s waist and leans into his space, pressing a kiss just below his ear and whispers, “You’re in a mood tonight.” 

Keith turns his head and kisses Shiro on the nose, almost apologetically. He’s doing this for Shiro’s sake— to put him in the mood to propose— but it still feels like a betrayal to want some random guy to flirt with him when the only person in the entire universe he’s ever going to want is right there next to him, smiling at him in that soft way he always smiles at Keith. 

Shiro kisses him, chaste and sweet, just the briefest of pecks on his mouth before he’s drawing back. “I’ll get you another drink,” he tells him. “Wait here, babe.” 

While Shiro slides down the bar to get the bartender’s attention, Keith swoops his eyes around the bar, looking for someone, anyone, who could maybe be good enough to flirt with him. There’s nobody. He sighs and rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, frustrated. 

Shiro returns with two drinks and his eyes go immediately to Keith’s recently exposed forearms. His smile grows, like just that much delights him. Keith feels his heart turn all squirmy in his chest and lets Shiro walk his fingertips down his arm, over his slender wrist, and then tangle his fingers together with Keith’s, holding his hand. 

Unsurprisingly, nobody approaches. Figures. The one time he wants someone to waste his time and get Shiro into the right mood to propose via possessiveness, the universe decides to let weirdos leave him and his boyfriend alone.

Of course.

Keith spends the evening hoping that, somehow, their favorite shitty dive bar will somehow inspire a romantic proposal. It doesn’t and Keith isn’t surprised. Instead, at the end of the night once they climb into the car they drove here in, Shiro pushes Keith up against the door and opens the rest of Keith’s shirt with his teeth before mouthing down lower. Keith loses all sense of time and place and ends up coming with his elbow on the car horn, blaring down the empty street. 

But no proposal.

 

-

 

“Well, well, well,” Coran proclaims as he swans into the room while Keith’s in the middle of paperwork, all horrendous orange uniform and just-as-loud orange mustache, “the princess tells me that you’re having trouble in your relationship. I’m here to lend some advice.” 

Figures that even Coran would have something to say— and that the unending game of Paladin Telephone would have warped Keith’s actual goal. At least Allura kept her promise and didn’t tell Lance. 

“Oh, great,” Keith sighs, shoving his paperwork away and throwing down his pen. With a sigh, he lifts his coffee cup to his lips. “Let’s just get this over with. What do you have for me, Coran?” 

“You need to have more sex.” 

Keith spits his coffee right onto Coran’s face. 

 

-

 

Keith isn’t proud of it, but he does take Coran’s advice— after all, what puts Shiro in a sappier mood than having sex with Keith? Shiro’s face is never softer than post-orgasm when he has Keith in his arms. He likes it when Keith touches his face, brushes back his hair, kisses his mouth like he’s teaching him how to breathe. 

Keith waits at home, sprawled out naked on their bed, waiting for Shiro to return from work. When he does, Shiro only manages a quiet _wow_ before Keith pounces on him and drags him into bed.

Aside from the fact that it was fueled on by Coran of all people, it’s a pretty successful round of sex, if Keith says so himself. (Truthfully, even Shiro laying a hand on him and stroking him off in under two minutes would still leave Keith calling it successful sex, so Keith can acknowledge that while his bar is low, Shiro is and always will be wonderful.) 

“Coran thinks that the key to a healthy relationship is lots of sex, by the way,” Keith says after they’ve finished, because if he has to know this about Coran, so does Shiro. 

Predictably, Shiro’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open. “You’ve been talking to Coran about sex?”

“Yep,” Keith says, rolling onto his side to look at Shiro. Shiro’s breathing heavy and flushed-cheeked, and maybe looking vaguely horrified. “He said I should dress you in tighter shirts.” 

“Stop! He did not say that,” Shiro laughs, shuddering theatrically. He rolls onto his side to face Keith and drags him in, kissing him. He licks into Keith’s mouth and Keith smiles and presses closer, hooking his leg over Shiro’s hip. 

The kiss turns sweeter and Keith sighs, gentling their kiss, touching Shiro’s cheek and drawing him in. He thinks, as Shiro pulls away to give him a warm smile, that maybe Shiro will ask the question now. 

“Glad as I am to have Coran’s blessing,” Shiro teases and he sounds breathless from the kissing, “why were you talking to him about that?” 

“He brought it up,” Keith says. “It’s not my fault.” 

Shiro hums and kisses him again. He doesn’t ask the question. Keith feels it viscerally, twisted up in his body— an expectation, a waiting. 

Later, inevitably, Keith grows desperate. Enough time has passed that the afterglow dwindles away and Shiro isn’t popping any questions aside from, _Can you move so I can get the toothpaste, babe?_

Keith’s standing in the bathroom, scrubbing his teeth and wearing Shiro’s shirt, and hating his life. Maybe, he thinks, he has to drop more hints. 

“So, uhhh… you. You in white. You look good in white… Yeah?” Keith asks.

Shiro stops brushing his teeth, meeting Keith’s eyes in the mirror. Shiro starts blushing, which seems like a good sign. He ducks his head down, spitting into the sink, wiping his mouth, and lifting his head again to peer at Keith. 

“Keith,” Shiro says calmly. “If you want to come on my face again, you just have to say so.”

Keith sputters and his toothbrush goes rattling into the sink, bouncing along the rim before he manages to grab it. Now he’s the one who’s turning red. “I wasn’t talking about that!” 

“I mean,” Shiro says, almost conversational as he crowds Keith up against the counter and then kneels in front of him. It’s almost romantic, except now Shiro’s eyes have gone dark and he’s hooking his fingers in the waistband of Keith’s pajama pants. “Now that you mention it… I _do_ look really good in white.” 

Keith thinks he should probably correct Shiro, but his brain is full of static and Shiro’s dragging his pants down and pressing a soft kiss to his belly and it’s not Keith’s fault that his hands automatically go to Shiro’s hair, curling tight and pulling him in closer.

 

-

 

After a few rounds of vigorous sex, Keith stares up at the ceiling as Shiro snoozes beside him, face pressed into his shoulder. Keith feels sated deep in his bones, but the anxiety is still niggling at the back of his head. He isn’t _good_ at the whole subtle thing, as it turns out. 

 

-

 

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Lance announces, apropos of nothing, sweeping into Keith’s office like he owns the place. “First, I’ll need a dozen roses, then a harp, and—” 

“Uh, excuse me,” Keith interrupts, “I’m in the middle of mentoring someone.” 

Lance gives a scathing look to the cadet currently staring back at Lance with wide eyes. She and Keith had been in the middle of discussing her classes for next term when Lance had to obnoxiously make his presence known. Worst still, Keith can _guess_ why Lance is here if he’s already talking about harps and flowers. 

“Shoo,” Lance tells the cadet, and actually does the shooing hand motion. The cadet looks alarmed, head whipping between Lance and Keith.

Keith rubs his temple and turns to her. “Cadet Rogers, come back to my office hours tomorrow, okay? I have to deal with a headache.” 

The cadet gives a hasty salute and scurries out. Lance launches into a speech about harps and clarinets and a well-placed steeple. 

“I’m not getting any sort of stringed instrument,” Keith interrupts. “Get out of here.” 

“Listen, I’m just trying to help you,” Lance says, serious and weighty. “I’m here to save your failing relationship with your boyfriend. You should be thanking me.” 

“Oh my god,” Keith groans, tipping his head back. “My relationship with Shiro is _fine,_ you moron. Who even told you something was wrong?” 

“Coran was talking about your sex life,” Lance says with deep gravity. 

Keith curses himself for failing to warn Coran not to tell Lance anything. This whole time he was worried about Allura mentioning something when he should have been focusing on the real squeaky wheel. 

“Look,” Lance says, pointedly, ducking away from Keith’s attempts to shove him out the door. “I’m trying to help you! It’s not _my_ fault that Shiro apparently doesn’t want to propose to you!” 

That stings. Keith stops trying to shove Lance away, flinching. He crosses his arms protectively over his chest.

“It isn’t like that,” Keith snaps, defensive. 

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Lance says, ignoring Keith’s distress in favor of practical solutions. “I’m picturing a parade. You take Shiro. There’s balloons— oooh ahhhh, amazing— when suddenly, BAM! You trip. Your ankle’s twisted. You feel woozy! Quick, Shiro’s going to have to scoop you into his arms—” 

“This sounds incredibly stupid,” Keith interrupts.

“He carries you to safety,” Lance continues, undeterred. “In the light of the setting sun, he stares into your eyes as you start weeping from the pain. Oh no! Tragedy! What’s he going to do next?” 

“Lance,” Keith grits out.

“And it’s in that moment when he realizes he can’t live without you and gives you CPR,” Lance concludes. “Then rips open his shirt to reveal his chest— just for you, I know you like that— and produces a ring.” 

“From his chest?” Keith can’t help but ask. 

“His pocket, stupid,” Lance scoffs. 

“This is stupid. All of this is stupid,” Keith mutters, shoulders rounding in on himself. It’s hearing such ridiculousness from Lance that snaps it all into focus, really: he’s being ridiculous. He’s being stupid. If Shiro hasn’t proposed to him yet, there’s a _reason_ for it. “Just forget it, okay? Shiro’ll propose if he wants to propose. I’m going to stop forcing it.”

If.

If he wants to propose. 

Lance is an idiot most of the time, Keith thinks, but even with that thick head of his, he seems to clue into Keith’s mood. His expression smooths out into something a little more sympathetic, which is somehow a million times worse than him just being a loud idiot. 

“Listen, man,” Lance says, hands on his hips. “Flowers are good, you know? Shiro like flowers?”

“I guess,” Keith mutters, feeling petulant. 

“So do that. Get him flowers.” 

 

-

 

Keith does not get Shiro flowers. He doesn’t do any elaborate set-up. He just goes home after the meetings are done for the day, flops on the couch, and feels sorry for himself. The wolf noses at his hand a few times until Keith gives him a begrudging head pat. The wolf accepts this with a low whine, but when Keith doesn’t give him a heftier petting, he wanders away to sleep on Keith and Shiro’s bed. 

Shiro comes home a little while after that, ducking over the back of the couch to plant a gentle kiss on Keith’s forehead in greeting. His smile dims immediately when he sees Keith’s expression.

“What’s wrong?” Shiro asks, because of course he’d notice right away.

“Nothing,” Keith says, dramatically, and feels just like Lance, especially when he drapes his arm over his eyes to block the view of Shiro’s beautiful face. 

Shiro always has the keen sense of knowing exactly when Keith’s moodiness means he wants to be left alone or he wants, desperately, for Shiro to be closer. This time is no different; Shiro strokes his hand over Keith’s chest and stomach, gently. 

“I’ll go order in some food. I’ll be right back,” Shiro murmurs, withdrawing. Keith misses him instantly. 

He continues lying on the couch like a petulant baby, moving only once Shiro returns because Shiro nudges his legs up so he can sit down beside him. Keith drops his legs into Shiro’s lap and continues to act morose. 

Shiro, for his part, doesn’t press him. He is, after all, the poster child for patience. He strokes one hand over Keith’s shin and ankle, but otherwise lets Keith languish in silence. 

“I’m stupid,” Keith declares. 

“You’re not,” Shiro answers immediately. He squeezes his ankle. 

Keith sighs and heaves himself up on his elbows. “Shiro?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

Keith hesitates and then just decides to go for it: “Why don’t you want to marry me?” 

Shiro stares at him for an agonizingly long moment, expression first surprised and quickly melting into confusion. He sits up a little straighter, his hand stilling on Keith’s shin, a heavy weight resting there. 

Shiro opens his mouth and then shuts it again, brow pinching. 

Keith feels the world swell beneath his feet, threatening to fall away. His stomach is doing somersaults. He never would have thought this would _bother him_ so much. And yet, here he is, feeling like a rejected fool. 

“Keith, what are you talking about?” Shiro asks, voice gentle. Because of course, even now, he’d be so gentle with Keith— seeking to understand, wanting to help. It’s at once endearing and just a little heartbreaking. 

Keith sighs, feeling deflated. “Are you not asking me because you don’t want to? Or because I said I don’t want to?” 

“I— Keith,” Shiro says, slowly, trying to process the words. “Who told you I was planning on proposing?” 

The question stings. Keith’s heart gets all twisted up in his chest and then plummets down hard into his stomach. Keith looks away, wishing he could just run or bury his face in a pillow or, better yet, just die and avoid this conversation all together. Now that he’s brought it up, he wishes he could shove it back down again.

“Oh,” he says, voice hollow. “No one did. I just thought…” 

He trails off, hoping Shiro will start talking. He doesn’t, though, just studying Keith’s face, his expression pinched with concern. Keith can’t even begin to know what Shiro sees in Keith’s face, what Shiro’s thinking in this moment.

The anxiety swirls low in his gut, ready to burst open and poison everything. 

Slowly, carefully, Shiro says, “You told me you don’t want to get married, Keith. You think weddings are stupid.” 

“They are stupid,” Keith agrees. “But—” He blushes. “Ugh. Ours would be less stupid. If you’re there with me… I mean, obviously you’d be there with me if it was _our_ wedding, but you know what I mean.” 

“Do I?” Shiro asks, wondering, but not unkindly. 

His hand finds Keith’s and squeezes, pulling him upright so they’re both sitting up, facing each other. He doesn’t let go of Keith’s hand even though, ridiculously, Keith has the urge to snatch it back and disappear with the wolf out into the desert. Maybe he’ll get eaten by a cougar and then he never has to talk about marriage with Shiro again. 

“Keith…” Shiro says, carefully. “Tell me what’s going on.” 

“Ugh. I’ve just gotten into my head,” Keith mutters and he knows that much is true. He’ll never admit to Lance that he managed to hit a nerve of insecurity. He scrubs a hand over his face, not meeting Shiro’s eyes. “We’ve been together for three years. People get married. They get married in less time we’ve been together.” 

“Sure,” Shiro agrees. “People who _want_ to get married do. But you told me you don’t think marriage is important.”

“Right, right,” Keith dismisses, frowning deeper. 

He fidgets with his free hand, unsure what to do. He almost tries to tug his other hand away from Shiro but can’t quite manage it. As if sensing that thought, Shiro squeezes his hand, refusing to let go. 

“I just thought… that’s what you want, isn’t it? To get married?” Keith looks up at him, cautiously meeting his eye. 

Shiro considers. Keith appreciates that he isn’t just answering at a knee-jerk reaction, but truly processing Keith’s words and questions. 

Finally, Shiro responds, “I wouldn’t mind getting married. But I kind of agree with you that it isn’t necessary.” 

Keith comes up short to that, genuinely flummoxed. This entire time, he’s imagined Shiro longing for a wedding day. Shiro is romantic. Shiro loves love. Shiro loves _him_. This entire time, he’s pictured Shiro crafting the perfect proposal, waiting and hoping, worried that Keith will say no.

“Do you even have a ring?” 

Shiro laughs. “No. Of course I don’t.” 

Keith’s glad he never went hunting for it, then. He’d have ripped apart their already renovation-heavy, chaotic house for nothing. 

Shiro frowns deeper. “How long have you been waiting for me to propose to you?”

“Like a week,” Keith mutters. 

Shiro snorts a laugh, despite the worry in his eyes. “That long? How awful. No wonder you’re languishing.” 

“Shiro,” Keith protests. “I’m being serious!” 

Shiro sobers obediently, cowed. He squeezes Keith’s hand apologetically and continues to look at Keith, studying him thoughtfully. Keith feels the urge to look away and forces himself to keep looking, meeting Shiro’s eyes. They’re beautiful. They’re the universe. Keith tries to focus on that instead of how foolish he feels. 

“I kept thinking you would,” Keith admits when Shiro is quiet. “I know you’re all… romantic and all that. Wouldn’t you want to?” 

Something warms in Shiro’s eyes— sweet, soft, gentle. He’s always so damnably gentle with him. His expression is serious, and he doesn’t laugh at Keith again, but there’s something charmed in his expression. 

“Well,” Shiro considers, voice calm as he thinks. “I guess getting married doesn’t feel like the pinnacle, you know? How could it when your boyfriend’s already thrown himself across the universe for you, or was willing to fall to his death for you, or pulled you back from the dead already? A wedding almost feels like a step down after that.”

“Shiro,” Keith mutters, blushing. 

When he puts it like that, it feels like too much. Keith never saw it as such— it was only ever necessary. It wasn’t something he did to be dramatic, to be romantic, to prove himself to Shiro in any way. It was always going to be second-nature to him: to find Shiro, to protect Shiro, to always bring Shiro home to him. 

After everything they’ve been through, Keith can admit that a wedding seems like a foolish enterprise in comparison. Their souls have already touched on the astral plane. His voice has already pulled Shiro back from the grave. They’ve already almost died for each other countless times. 

“I know how you feel about me,” Shiro says, gentle. “You know how I feel about you. I don’t need a ring to prove that.”

Keith nods. Shiro’s right. It feels almost clinical, to reduce a marriage down to such terms, but it’s the truth— they’ve already crossed so many thresholds together.

Shiro lifts Keith’s hand and kisses the back of it, then each knuckle. Then, carefully, he turns Keith’s hand over and kisses the tendons of his wrist, lingering there. 

“I don’t feel like my life is incomplete just because it’s something we haven’t done ‘yet’, Keith,” he murmurs. “I’m committed to you.” 

Something twists up tight in Keith’s chest. It’s hard to breathe for a moment. Shiro tilts his head, studying his face, and slowly lifts his free hand to touch Keith’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly over the cut of his cheekbone. Then his hold slips down, cupping his jaw, his thumb following the familiar path of Keith’s scar. Every time Shiro touches him there, it feels like a prayer, like Shiro is promising him an eternity of happiness. Just the sweep of his thumb spells his devotion. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith isn’t crying but he feels like he might. He sighs and closes his eyes, ducking his head as he scoots closer towards Shiro. He reaches for him and Shiro is there to meet him, hands cupping his hips and holding him close. 

“I didn’t think this would bother me,” Keith mutters, an admittance that lifts his chest just a little. 

Shiro smiles, eyes gentle, and kisses the top of Keith’s head before he nuzzles into his hair. “People are allowed to change their minds on things, Keith.” 

Helplessly, Keith looks up and skims his fingers along the square cut of Shiro’s jaw, pausing just at his chin, unwilling to drop away. He just wants to keep touching him. He just wants to hold him forever and never let go, to never be parted from him. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you,” Shiro answers and kisses him. It’s a short kiss, quick and to the point. He draws back soon enough and regards Keith with a long stare. “This has really been bothering you, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Keith admits. “Doesn’t help that the others were trying to help, too. They were _unhelpful_ , by the way.” 

“… Did you ask all our friends how to get me to marry you?” 

When he puts it like that, it almost sounds romantic. 

“Not on purpose,” Keith protests, weakly. 

“Hmm,” Shiro hums, stroking his hands over Keith’s hips. “So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know,” Keith admits in a quiet voice. 

Patiently, Shiro presses, “Do you _want_ to get married, Keith?” 

Keith blinks at the question. His answer is immediate: “You want to.”

Shiro shakes his head, neither confirming nor denying the statement. His hands lift from his hips to skate up his sides and chest, over the planes of his shoulders and then his cheeks. He cups his face, cradling him close, like he is something precious. 

“Keith. I’m asking if you want to.” 

Keith blinks more. “Well, if you—” 

“Stop thinking about me,” Shiro interrupts gently. “I know, very difficult for you,” he teases when Keith opens his mouth. Shiro smiles and it warms his eyes, lights up his entire face. “Take me out of the equation, just for a second. What do _you_ want, Keith?” 

“I want to be with you,” Keith says, immediately and without hesitation. “Forever.” 

“And we will be,” Shiro assures him. “Whether we have rings or not.” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, relief prickling the back of his neck. His expression softens. “Okay.” 

Shiro’s face is an open book, soft with affection. Keith could lose himself in Shiro forever— every inch of him, every part of him. The wide, expansive opening of his heart, always ready to pull Keith in and assure him. He can’t imagine his life without Shiro— and he’s grateful that he never will need to learn what it’s like. 

“What do you want?” Keith asks. “Take me out of the equation.” 

Shiro considers the question. “Well,” he says, “If I had a ring on, guys would stop hitting on me at the bar, right?” 

Keith wrinkles his nose at the reminder. 

“Everyone would know I’m yours,” Shiro murmurs, teasing. It’s utterly distracting whenever Shiro gets that particular tone and he knows it, too. It does wonders to ease Keith’s anxieties away from his own insecurities and focus, instead, on the unworthy masses out there daring to think they have a chance with his man. 

Keith tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, ducking his head to hide his blush, fighting back the possessive curl in his gut. 

“I don’t care if people know or not,” Keith mutters, which is a downright lie and he knows it even without Shiro’s snort of disbelief. “You and I know who we belong to.” 

“Mm,” Shiro agrees, smiling. “So?”

“So… I guess the whole marriage idea bothers me less than I thought,” Keith mutters. “If it’s what you wanted. I want what you want.” 

“Enough that you drive yourself crazy for a week wondering why I’m not proposing,” Shiro snorts. “I think you like the idea more than you’re letting on, baby.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Really?” Shiro asks, and there’s still that hint of a tease.

Keith sucks in a sharp breath and then lets it out again in a low rush. “Fine. Maybe I… like the idea more than I realized.” He clears his throat. “I kept thinking of ways to make these situations for you to propose and… and maybe the thought was nice.” 

All that time, fabricating the experiences and Keith never once considered how he would react if Shiro were to ask. He tries to picture it now, Shiro getting down on one knee, opening a box with a ring, asking him to be with him forever. Keith doesn’t feel a rush of longing, necessarily, but his heart does feel full as he looks into Shiro’s eyes now. 

“If you were getting so impatient waiting for me, you could have asked me yourself, you know,” Shiro says, teasing. “You’d have looked good.” 

Keith tries to picture it— _Keith_ the one getting on his knee, Shiro’s eyes going wide, his smile bright. He’d look so handsome, towering over Keith. His hands falling to reach for Keith, dragging him up, kissing him until they couldn’t breathe. 

Keith shakes his head. “I’d have done it wrong. You know I’m not romantic.” 

“Who told you that?” Shiro laughs, disbelieving. “You’re the most romantic person I know, Keith.” 

“You’re biased,” Keith insists. 

Shiro shakes his head, his hands drumming up Keith’s sides and then splaying over his back, dragging him in closer so he can kiss him. It’s a sweet kiss, gentle and quick. He nips once at Keith’s mouth and then smooths the sting with his tongue, whispering his name. 

When he draws away, he’s still smiling. “You’ve called me the love of your life. To my face.” 

Keith’s face pinches as he squints at him. “But you _are_ the love of my life.” 

“And you don’t think saying that’s romantic?” Shiro asks.

Keith’s entire face turns pink. “Of course it isn’t. It’s just the truth.” 

Shiro laughs, charmed, his face impossibly soft. “That you think that is what makes it romantic, sweetheart.” He strokes his hands up his back and then moves to cup his face instead, his palms huge and warm against Keith’s burning cheeks. Shiro smiles, helplessly. “Keith,” he murmurs. “You’re the love of my life, too.” 

“Yeah? Good,” Keith whispers, just a little dazed. 

Shiro smiles down at him. “Very good.” 

“So, uh, marry me, then.” He bites his lip, looking up at Shiro, letting himself fall into the depths of his eyes. “But only if you want.” 

“Marry me back,” Shiro answers, “but only if you want.” 

Keith laughs, throat closing up and voice just a touch watery when he whispers, “Okay.” 

And then he drags Shiro down, kissing the breath from his lungs.

 

-

 

Three days later, at the weekly debrief between the Paladins of Voltron, Keith not-so-very-nonchalantly rests his hand on the table and lets the light glint off his new ring. 

The result is, of course, pandemonium: Lance gasps dramatically, Allura claps excitedly, Pidge offers the slightest smile before she rolls her eyes, and Hunk and Coran give them two big thumbs up each. 

“You eloped after all!” Allura gushes, surprised and delighted. 

The flurry of questions that follow absolutely derails the meeting for the rest of the morning. The Paladins demand details and even Pidge listens in when she seizes the opportunity to work on some code on her computer. 

“So you just went to the courthouse and signed a paper?” Lance gasps, looking absolutely and utterly scandalized. Then again, he’s the one who planned an entire wedding around his three different outfits, so Keith can’t really be surprised he’d find the situation lacking. “That’s the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard!” 

“We also bought our rings second-hand,” Keith deadpans just because he knows it’ll make Lance shriek.

“This is _the worst_ thing I’ve ever heard!” Lance bemoans. “At least tell me it was your grandparents’ rings or something!” 

“Nah,” Keith says, smug.

Lance does, indeed, squawk. 

Keith shrugs and glances at Shiro. Once their eyes meet, Shiro smiles back at him, his chin resting in his hand. Once Keith’s eyes are on him, though, Shiro turns his head and presses his mouth to the ring he now wears, shining in the morning light. 

The ring is just a ring. The date of their marriage is just another anniversary to celebrate next year. The marriage certificate signed and dated with both Takashi and Keith Shirogane’s signatures is just a piece of paper. 

But Shiro—his _husband_ — looking at him from across the table, his smile warm and gentle and just for Keith? Keith could look at him forever, for eternity, for the rest of the universe’s existence, and never grow tired or regret anything that’s led him here. 

That’s his husband. 

Keith smiles back at Shiro, helpless and in love, and doesn’t break eye contact as he also lifts his hand and kisses his ring.

**Author's Note:**

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